


those walls i built (well baby they're tumbling down)

by seeingrightly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, I hope you gave that boy your phone number,” Suzanne says as soon as the door closes behind Jack, and Eric drops his head to the counter with a groan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	those walls i built (well baby they're tumbling down)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [alicia](onelilsweater.tumblr.com) and [melissa](princejackzimmermann.tumblr.com) for editing
> 
> title from beyonce's "halo" and i bet there's already 45 other fics with this title but idc!!!!

Eric’s taking down a cake order over the phone when a man walks into the bakery, whisper-shouting into his Bluetooth in what sounds like French, like that makes him any less disruptive than if he was actually shouting. The bakery’s not particularly crowded this morning, and Suzanne actually pops her head out of the kitchen with her hands on her hips to see what the ruckus is.

The man is wearing a charcoal gray suit and shiny black shoes but his dark hair flops over his forehead like he’s been tugging at it. He’s bent over the display case of baked goods with a deep frown on his face, periodically giving a loud _mhmm_ , when Suzanne grabs the phone right out of Eric’s hands.

“You can deal with this, can’t you, sugar?” she says, shoving Eric away from the notepad and winking.

It’s what she does literally every time an attractive adult male of a certain age range comes into the bakery, and it is _awful_.

Eric waits until he’s turned away from his mother to roll his eyes and steps up to the counter. When the man doesn’t notice him, still glowering at the sweets, Eric leans his elbows against the counter to wait. The man doesn’t seem to be Frenching at his Bluetooth anymore so Eric gives him another few moments and then he clears his throat.

“What can I do for you today?” he asks.

The man actually startles, turning to look at Eric from where he’s still bent over the display case. His eyes are startlingly blue but kind of droopy. It’s charming. Eric hates himself.

“I don’t know,” the man says, frowning.

Eric raises his eyebrows, hating himself a little more, and then glances down at the man’s suit.

“Let me guess, this is for a work thing?”

“A meeting,” the man says with a nod.

“People you know, or people you don’t know?” Eric asks.

He’s still leaning against the counter, and the man hasn’t moved any closer, looking somewhere between displeased and confused. He doesn’t answer right away.

“Mostly strangers then,” Eric guesses, and the man’s eyebrows draw together.

Eric stands up fully and holds up his hands in defense.

“I need somethin’ to work with here,” he says. “If they’re people you don’t know but you want to impress - I can put somethin’ together for that. Is this for a morning or afternoon meeting?”

“Morning,” the man says slowly. “This morning.”

Eric pauses as he heads toward his notepad.

“And how many people am I supposed to be providing with food on such short notice, Mr. - ?”

“Zimmermann,” the man says, sounding a little guilty. “Jack Zimmermann. And it’s fifteen people.”

“Well, Jack ZImmermann, I _will_ get this done, but I’ll have you know that I could do a _much_ better job if I had some advance warning,” Eric says, wagging a finger at Jack. “Don’t let this be your impression of what kinda work our bakery does, y’hear?”

“I won’t,” Jack says, and Eric lets himself smile as he turns away to grab a box.

“Now,” he says as he begins to load up the box, “I’ll stay away from nuts and anything else people are likely to be allergic to, but next time you come with a list of preferences and allergies, alright?”

Jack nods when Eric glances up. He looks a little overwhelmed and a little relieved.

“Is everyone in the south so,” Jack starts, but he just kind of gestures toward Eric and then stops.

“Hospitable?” Eric asks innocently, and Jack looks unimpressed.

“The answer is yes, by the way,” Eric says as he picks and chooses carefully from the trays of fresh goods. “I hate that I can’t put together something more, oh, _cohesive_ than this.”

“As long as it tastes good, it doesn’t really matter,” Jack says, and Eric pauses in the middle of double fisting some scones, not caring if he looks ridiculous.

“First of all, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says, “it will taste good. You have my word on that. And second of all, don’t you ever tell a baker that artistry doesn’t matter.”

Jack opens his mouth to respond, but then his Bluetooth makes a noise, and he turns away slightly, speaking in French again. Eric gets everything boxed up and moves over to the register. This is normally the part where he’d explain that they give first time customers a discount on the assumption that they’ll come back and bring their friends, but - he grabs a sticky note and a pen.

_First timers get discounts so tell your friends_ , he writes, and then he looks up at this man and his clenched fists and, impulsively, he adds, _Y’all come back now, y’hear? :P_ , signing it _ERB._

He runs Jack’s card through the system and hands everything to him, and all the while Jack is still talking, his shoulders creeping up toward his shoulders they way they were when he arrived. He nods distractedly to Eric as he picks up the box.

Eric leans against the counter and watches him head toward the door, Suzanne coming up and leaning next to him. They’re quiet, and Eric is pretty sure they’re both staring at Jack’s butt.

Right before he reaches the door, Jack abruptly stops talking and huffs out a very quiet noise that might be a laugh as he stares down at the top of the box, but then he keeps going.

“Well, I hope you gave that boy your phone number,” Suzanne says as soon as the door closes behind Jack, and Eric drops his head to the counter with a groan.

-

The next morning, Eric finds Jack’s name among the list of orders to complete, including very specific mentions of allergies and flavor preferences. His mom or Chowder must’ve taken the call the night before after Eric’s shift ended.

He hums to himself as he starts getting orders together, ignoring the sounds of Dex and Nursey bickering in the kitchen. He wouldn’t sign them up for the same hours at all if they didn’t have to attend college classes at the same time most days, and it’s entertaining more often than not, so Eric just lets them go at it.

When the front door creaks open he glances up, but it’s just his mom, a smirk on her face as she catches him looking.

“He must’ve looked up our number,” she says without preamble. “Now, Dicky, I know you’ve already given me a grandbaby, but don’t you still want to give your mama a _wedding_?”

Eric groans. She pulls the same thing every time he so much as _looks_ at another relatively attractive man, and a lot of those come into the bakery, so there’s no reason this one will go any differently than all the rest, aka _nowhere_.

“Mother, please,” Eric says, “it is too early.”

“It’s gonna be too _late_ for me soon,” she says, but she chuckles at the face he makes and lets the subject drop for now.

Jack shows up at roughly the same time he did the day before, this time wearing a navy suit and tailed by a short woman with dark hair cropped close to her head. She’s wearing cut-offs and a tank top covered in paint splatters and definitely doesn’t have a bra on, so there’s no way she’s one of Jack’s coworkers, unless he seriously overdresses.

“Got another meeting today?” Eric asks as they head up to the counter.

Jack nods, then makes an uncomfortable face.

“I’m sure you did already,” he says, “but Justin told me to make sure fifteen actual times that there’s no -”

“No nuts,” Eric says, tapping the order taped to the top of the box. “It’s underlined, like, seven times.”

Jack winces.

“Adam’s really allergic,” he says apologetically. “Apparently.”

“No accidental murders,” says the woman standing with him as Eric rings up the order. “That’s the first step to office friends, Zimmermann.”

Jack makes a slightly pained face, looking down at his shoes. The woman turns to Eric, her gaze serious.

“You do coffee here?”

“Nothin’ too fancy, but sure, what can I get you?” he asks.

“Something strong,” she says. “Don’t care what it tastes like. I was up painting all night.”

Eric makes a concerned noise before he can help himself, and Jack glances back up, some of the tension draining from his frame. If he made more facial expressions, Eric thinks he might look amused right now.

“You want something to eat too, right?”

She nods.

“I’m Lardo, btw,” she adds. “You’re ERB.”

“Oh,” Eric says, nearly fumbling the coffee cup, and Jack shoots her a look that Eric can’t read and that Lardo ignores.

“Well, yes,” he says, “I’m Eric. Eric Bittle.”

Lardo cocks an eyebrow.

“Eric Richard Bittle,” he says, feeling his face warm up as he turns away to fill up the cup.

“She saw the note while stealing my leftovers,” Jack says suddenly, and Eric can’t help it, he raises his eyebrows a little as he turns back around with the full cup.

“Neighbors share,” Lardo says before practically shoving her whole face into the coffee.

“Leftovers, huh?” Bitty says, putting his hands on his hips.

“You gave us a lot,” Jack says, mildly defensive and more animated than Eric has seen him yet. “And someone missed the meeting.”

“Hm,” Eric says, turning to grab a croissant and some spreads for Lardo. “You care how I do this up, hon? Any allergies?”

She shakes her head, still preoccupied with her coffee.

“Anything for you, Zimmermann?” Eric asks, pointing a butter knife at him.

Jack shakes his head, sighing a little when Eric raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll be eating twelve of the blueberry scones later,” Jack admits, glaring a little. “Thank you, _Bittle_.”

Eric feels something warm in his belly at that, at the tone, at the smirk on Jack’s face. So, of course, his mother chooses that moment to bustle out of the kitchen.

“You need help getting any orders together, sweetpea?” she asks distractedly, pausing when she turns around and sees Jack on the other side of the counter.

She makes a show of checking the box on the counter before smiling brightly up at him.

“I spoke to you on the phone last night, didn’t I, Mr. Zimmermann,” she says. “I hope what we put together for you today goes over just as well as yesterday’s did!”

Jack smiles tightly at Suzanne, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with his face.

“I’m sure it will,” he says.

Suzanne smiles up at him for a moment longer, clearly waiting for him to say more. Eric hands Lardo her food and tries not to cringe at the awkward beat or so of silence. She takes a bite and then shoots a thumbs up.

“Take all my money, Bits,” she says with her mouth full.

Jack looks at his watch as Eric rings Lardo up.

“Now,” Suzanne says before Jack can make a move to leave, “you let us know how this one goes over, alright? We’ll figure out the best combination of goodies for your group in no time.”

“Mother,” Eric says, “he’s not going to take _notes_.”

“I could,” Jack says stiffly, like he’s not really sure why he’s doing it, and Eric sighs openly.

Parent-pleasers and southern parents are a dangerous combination.

“Now,” Eric says, “you go on and get out of here before she gets you to promise anything ridiculous, okay?”

Jack takes the box and looks between Eric and Suzanne for a moment like he’s not really sure if he’s allowed to leave. Lardo sticks her croissant in her mouth, throws up a peace sign, and drags Jack by the arm toward the door.

The second they’re gone, Eric glares at his mother.

“You leave that boy alone,” he says, “and you leave _me_ alone too.”

Suzanne throws her hands up like she has any right to claim innocence and leaves Eric to sulk behind the counter some more.

-

“Chowder!” Eric calls.

He’s standing on his toes trying to reach a mixing bowl that’s up on one of the higher shelves in the kitchen, and he’s got tight jeans on so he’s not in the mood to climb up onto the counter to get it. He’s pretty sure Nursey puts things up there to piss off him and his mother, because as much as that boy tells people to chill, he loves to rile them up.

“Just a sec, Bitty!” Chowder calls.

Eric gets nervous leaving Chowder behind the counter on his own, but he also gets nervous leaving him in the kitchen on his own and Dex called out sick, so - lesser of two evils. Except Eric can’t reach his mixing bowl.

He jumps when Chowder appears over his shoulder and grabs the bowl, plopping it into his hands.

“There, dude,” Chowder says. “Hey, some guy just came in and ordered two blueberry scones and sat down with them and his eyes are really huge and blue and pretty and his hair is floofy and his butt is like. _Dude_. So I think he might be that guy your mom keeps talking about?”

“Oh,” Eric says, placing the mixing bowl down on the counter in front of him.

Jack hasn’t been back in more than a week, and his mother’s been getting increasingly more dramatic about it. He’d sort of been relieved not to have to deal with her breathing down his neck about it anymore, but - he feels sort of relieved now, too.

“Bitty, I can handle mixing some batter,” Chowder says, grabbing the mixing bowl. “ _Go_ to him.”

Eric blushes and stumbles as Chowder shoves him toward the doorway to the front room, but it’s not really worth denying the situation to someone like sweet, sweet Chowder, who wants Eric to _find someone_ almost as badly as Eric’s mother does.

Eric clears his throat and moves to smooth out his shirt as he walks out into the front room, but he realizes too late that he’s wearing a battered apron and there’s nothing to be done about it now. Jack’s sitting at a corner table, looking out the window as he works on his first scone, a cup of water sitting next to his plate.

His suit jacket is hanging over the back of his chair, and his tie is loosened, and his sleeves are rolled up, and Eric actually stops in his tracks for just a moment.

Eric leans against the counter and lets himself have a moment to look at this man, this man who he barely knows. Pretty much all Eric knows is that he’s nice to look at. And that he’s very, very awkward. It’s a moment Eric will tuck away, just to remember it, not to think about it too hard or too long. Just a moment.

“You know,” Eric says, “that’s not really a sufficient lunch.”

At least, Eric assumes it’s lunch. It’s a few hours too late and the place is deserted.

Jack turns to look at him. He looks tired.

“I needed to get out of the office,” he says. “I knew I’d -”

He stops, looks away, and Eric makes a quiet, considering noise.

“Alright,” Eric says. “But next time you let me make you some actual food to eat.”

“Alright,” Jack says quietly. After a second he adds, “This is the only food place I’ve been to so far.”

“Where’d you move from?” Eric asks. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“Montreal,” Jack says, and Eric feels his mouth drop open a little. “I got transferred down to this office.”

“Well,” Eric says, “that’s quite a change.”

Jack lets out a quiet noise that might be a laugh.

“I hope Georgia’s treating you well,” Eric adds. “I’ve been here my whole life, and I can’t imagine what it looks like to someone new.”

“Really,” Jack says, “I assumed you were from Brooklyn.”

Eric squints at him. Jack’s face is totally expressionless, _too_ expressionless, so it takes him a second to figure out that Jack’s messing with him.

“Alright, Canada,” he says, and before he can get anything else out Jack breaks, looking down at his plate, not quite smiling but definitely looking amused.

Chowder tumbles out of the kitchen with the phone between his ear and his shoulder, his hands covered in batter.

“Hey, Bitty, will you take down this order?” he asks.

Eric writes things down as Chowder rattles them off, asks for clarification a few times because Chowder tends to forget things. When they’re done he takes the phone and wipes it off on his apron before hanging it back up.

“You almost done back there?” Eric asks.

Chowder glances over at Jack with wide, unsubtle eyes.

“No?” Chowder says. “Unless... you _want_ me to hurry up?”

Eric sighs and waves him off. Before he gets to the doorway, Chowder pauses.

“What time’s your mom coming in today?”

“Should be here before four,” Eric says.

“Cool,” Chowder says. “Just wanted to make sure I’d get to say hi to the little dude before I head out. Did you give him those stickers I brought you?”

Eric rolls his eyes.

“Of _course_ I did,” he says. “A wide variety of marine life is stuck to my kitchen table now, _thank you very much_ , Christopher.”

Chowder squeaks and disappears into the kitchen, and Eric laughs.

He’s not expecting Jack to be watching him when he turns back around, and Eric ducks his head a little, feeling sheepish. He clears his throat.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any tricks for getting stickers off of hardwood surfaces, would you?” he asks, not sure what else to say.

“No,” Jack says slowly. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”

“Yes,” Eric says instantly, laughing a little again. “I’ve heard the terrible twos can last an extra five or so years but I’m hoping the furniture-wrecking stage ends soon.”

“How old,” Jack asks, a little uncertainly, like he’s not sure what the right questions are.

“Almost four,” Eric says, and then he stops himself.

He knows he can - well, he can be a lot, and Jack doesn’t seem like the type of person to be very into kids. Or humans of any age. Eric kind of hopes he leaves before they get here.

Jack nods, even though the age probably doesn’t signify anything to him, which makes Eric smile a little, but then he glances down at his watch.

“Time to get back?” Eric asks as Jack moves to stand.

Jack nods and reaches for his plate.

“No, no, let me get that,” Eric says, coming around the counter to clean up. “And remember, you let me know next time and I’ll make you an actual lunch, hm?”

If it were someone else, Eric might bustle Jack out of the way, but he waits for him to move to the side and start putting his jacket on to swoop in and start clearing the table. He glances up once everything is situated, and Jack nods again.

“I will,” Jack says.

“Good,” Eric says, nodding too.

There’s a crash as Chowder knocks something over in the kitchen, and they both jump, and Jack moves toward the door.

“Um,” he says, “thanks,” and then he leaves.

Eric lets himself stare after Jack for a moment.

He’s just lonely, Eric tells himself. A lonely straight guy. Probably looking for straight friends.

Something else crashes in the kitchen, and he goes to investigate. Chowder’s standing over a couple of utensils that are on the floor, but thankfully they haven’t been used yet so it’s not too much of a mess.

“I’m really sorry,” Chowder says, grabbing them all up at once. “No, let me clean it up!”

He gestures wildly with a spatula, and Eric puts his hands up in self-defense, laughing.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “Is this batter ready to go?”

“Uh,” Chowder says, “mostly?”

Eric raises his eyebrows and puts his hands on his hips as he wanders over to the mixing bowl. It looks almost ready, actually, which isn’t too bad given Chowder’s usual tendency to forget himself halfway through making anything - which is why Chowder usually stays out of the kitchen except when he’s cleaning or when Eric’s in a particularly good mood. Or distracted by an attractive and probably heterosexual customer, apparently.

He’s about to pick up the whisk when he hears the front door open.

“Daddy!”

It happens every time but it still makes Eric laugh a little. He heads out into the front room and rests his elbows on the counter. Suzanne puts Grayson down, smoothing his light, messy curls out of his face and tugging his shirt into place. She groans a little as she stands back up and lets Grayson go. He runs up to the counter and hooks his fingers onto the edge, pulling himself up as far as he can. They’re stained pink and look sticky, like he just had candy. Eric reaches out and pokes him in the nose.

“How can I help you today, sir?” he asks, and Grayson laughs and bites at his finger.

He tries to pull himself up further, but he still can’t really see onto the counter. Eric knows he’s going to cry the day that finally happens so he tries not to think about it too much.

“What’re you lookin’ for, Gray?”

“Cookies,” Grayson says in his most condescending voice, which is pretty condescending for someone so tiny and cute.

“Did you eat all of your lunch today?” Eric asks, and glances up at his mom to catch her nod.

“Yes,” Grayson says, dropping back down to stand flat-footed and impatient. “Cookies?”

“One cookie,” Eric allows, letting out a displeased noise as Grayson moves over to rub his fingers all over the display case.

Suzanne grabs him pretty quickly though, and takes the cookie Eric hands her over the counter.

“Hey, do you know who’s working today?” Eric asks, and Grayson looks up from the crumbling cookie in his hands expectantly.

“Chowder,” Eric says, and Grayson drops half his cookie on the floor in his excitement.

Eric sighs and heads back into the kitchen.

“Somebody wants to see you,” he says, “and made a mess you can go clean up.”

“Nice!” Chowder says, shooting him a sudsy thumbs up from the sink. “I’m done cleaning these up. You want me to hang out with him out front?”

“Sure,” Eric says, moving over to the mixing bowl.

Chowder basically gets paid to clean and babysit. It keeps everyone happy.

He’s just starting to pour the batter when his mom leans against the counter next to him, a dangerous look on her face.

“I hear Jack Zimmermann stopped by again today,” she says breezily.

“We sell food,” Eric says. “He needed to eat.”

“Hm,” Suzanne says. “Fine, but don’t tell me you don’t like to look at him while he does it.”

“Ew,” Eric says, glaring at his mother until she leaves.

-

Eric is late to work, as tends to happen more weekend mornings than he’d like to admit. Thankfully, he just has to run down the stairs from his apartment to the bakery. Grayson is asleep still when Eric checks on him one last time before he opens his front door and nearly smacks into his father.

“Easy there,” Coach says, grabbing Eric by the shoulder to steady him. “Your mama’s already down there and she’s none too pleased about you getting some extra beauty sleep during the Sunday morning rush.”

“I know I know I know,” Eric says, patting his dad on the arm and then darting past him.

He waves to Dex on his way through the kitchen, but when he bursts out into the front room, it’s not very busy at all, probably died down before Eric was even awake. He lets himself slump against the back counter for a moment to catch his breath.

“Get stuck in traffic?” Suzanne asks, floating past him with a tray of brownies like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Sorry, Mama,” Eric tries, but she tuts and points out at the tables once she puts down the tray.

“There are tables that need clearin’ and they’re calling your name, Dicky,” she says.

He sighs and grabs a bin to put everything in, making his way out front. There’s only a couple of tables full, and if they’re there early on a weekend they’re probably regulars who are used to Bittle family antics, so he’s not too embarrassed about the flush that’s probably still on his cheeks both from running down the stairs and from his mother’s disappointment, as routine and playful as it might be. He should be too old to be so affected by it, especially when she’s mostly teasing, but - she’s his _mom._

He’s humming along to song playing and maybe bopping along a little bit as he moves dirty plates into the bin when someone nearby clears their throat. Eric jumps and a few crumpled napkins fall to the floor. He glances up as he crouches down to pick them up and sees Jack sitting at the next table over, his eyebrows raised, looking thoroughly amused even though he isn’t quite smiling. Eric doesn’t know how he does that.

Then Eric glances down a little and notices that Jack is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and he nearly drops the napkins again.

“Oh,” Eric says, very calmly. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Jack says, sounding amused.

He’s got a mug of something - tea, it looks like - and a plate full of crumbs in front of him on the table next to a really nice camera, and Eric’s insides go funny for a split second. Jack must notice him looking at the camera because he makes a face, just slightly, his eyebrows coming together and one of his hands curling on the tabletop next to the mug.

“Getting to know the town?” Eric asks as he stands up and dumps the napkins into the bin.

When he glances back over, Jack nods. Eric’s first instinct, the one that tells him to smalltalk everybody’s ears off, is to say something like, _I wouldn’t have pegged you as the photography type_. But the line of Jack’s shoulders, riding high without a suit jacket to weigh them down, says he already knows that.

“You know,” Eric says, turning away to load up the dirty plates, “there’s a lake a block or so away from here. Lots of pretty trees in bloom right now.”

“Yeah?” Jack asks after a pause. “I’ll check it out.”

Eric lets himself glance over at Jack again as he picks up the bin and moves to another table.  He’s picked up the camera, clicking through whatever he’s already taken, a small frown of concentration on his face, the line of his shoulders gone soft under his thin t-shirt. His feet - sneakered - are planted firmly on the floor under the table, no jiggling like Eric might have expected. There’s a tuft of hair at the crown of Jack’s head that’s going the wrong way.

As he puts the bin down on another table a little too hard, Eric shakes his head.

“Oh,  shi - _sugar_ ,” Suzanne says from behind the counter. “We’re all out of post-its. Dicky, will you run down to the store and grab some more?”

Eric squints at her suspiciously, his arms full of plates and his shirt covered in crumbs.

“I’ll finish clearing the tables,” she says. “Come on now, I need you to get them before I need them for an order.”

She holds out a five dollar bill, her expression too innocent. Eric glances over his shoulder and, sure enough, Jack has stood up and is slinging his camera around his neck. He sighs.

“ _Oh_ ,” Suzanne says, like it’s just now occurred to her, “why, Mr. Zimmermann, why doesn’t Dicky show you where the lake is? It’s in the same direction as the stationery store.”

Jack looks up from his camera, blinking at Suzanne. He glances over at Eric, his eyebrows coming together.

“Uh,” Jack says, “I mean, if he’s going that way anyway, I guess - I mean, sure, thank you, Mrs. Bittle.”

Suzanne comes around the counter and grabs everything out of Eric’s arms in one go, somehow depositing them in the bin without breaking anything and then brushing the crumbs off of his front. She shoves the five dollar bill into his hand and then actually reaches up to fix his hair before Eric can dodge her.

He shoots her a look that she completely ignores, and he turns toward Jack, who has both hands on his camera like he’s not sure what to do with himself, poor boy. Eric scoots past him and out the door, looking over his shoulder once he’s got it open. Jack follows.

“What name do you usually go by?” Jack asks once they’re on the sidewalk.

Eric shrugs.

“Depends on the person.”

“What’s your preference?” Jack asks, holding his camera up and taking a picture of the sign on the front of the bakery.

Eric shrugs again, and Jack turns the camera so he can see the shot. One of the windows of Eric’s apartment is just up in the corner of the picture, a stuffed animal, probably Grayson’s cat, sitting on the sill in front of the off-white curtains. Below it is the top part of the sign, peeling pink paint on wood and faded white letters, just _Bittle_ , in script, captured in the shot.

He’s not sure what Jack wants him to say, but he smiles and he nods because it’s nice. The corners of Jack’s mouth turn up just a little, and Eric’s not sure if Jack is laughing with him or at him but he doesn’t really care, honestly.

“Shall I show you to the lake, Mr. Zimmermann?” he asks, tearing his eyes away and starting down the sidewalk.

“Lead the way, Mr. Bittle,” Jack says very seriously, too seriously, and Eric scrunches up his nose and laughs and just barely holds himself back from shoving Jack in the arm, settles for glaring as much as he can while he’s still laughing.

“Okay,” Eric says as they walk, “not even my father goes by that, and I don’t plan to either.”

“What does your father go by?” Jack asks, focusing his camera on a bird sitting on top of a fire hydrant.

Eric tells himself he isn’t charmed.

“Coach,” he says, and before Jack can ask he adds, “Football, and yes, I played briefly, and yes, it was a disaster.”

“Hm,” Jack says without looking away from his camera, “what about your kid? Does he play?”

Eric holds back a sigh.

“He’s not old enough yet,” he says, “but we’ll see.”

He doesn’t need to rehash the last debate he and his father got into over the subject, his mother standing between them and clucking her tongue, and Jack seems to sense his discomfort because he doesn’t ask anything else.

After a second, Eric looks over at him.

“So,” he says. He hesitates for a second, and then decides to just go for it, asking, “What do you _do_?”

Jack looks at him for a long moment.

“Your job, I mean,” Eric says, and Jack looks amused in a way that means he’s probably just messing with Eric.

“We manufacture history textbooks,” Jack says, and Eric blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“I like history,” Jack says. “I don’t like working in an office.”

“Okay,” Eric says, but judging by the clench of Jack’s hand, there’s more.

“We’re limited a lot,” he says suddenly. “Censored. What we’re allowed to put in the textbooks. What we _have_ to put in the textbooks. It isn’t fair to the students.”

“Oh,” Eric says again.

It’s probably the most he’s heard Jack say at once. He could’ve assumed Jack was passionate about _something_ , but history textbooks are so unexpected that Eric finds himself smiling a little. Jack looks over at him, and then he ducks his head, busying himself with his camera.

“That’s really interesting, Jack,” Eric says. “I mean it.”

Jack lowers the camera a little, glances back over at Eric, and then visibly takes a breath, seemingly to resettle. Eric glances over and notices that they’ve reached the stationery store.

“I’ll be right back,” Eric says. “We’re almost there, by the way. Just give me a minute.”

Jack nods and watches him duck into the store. Eric is quick about grabbing two packages of post-it notes; he knows they probably don’t even need any but his mother will put up a fuss if he gets the wrong kind, and he doesn’t want to take any chances. As he pays, he looks outside to see Jack taking a picture of a mailbox.

He’s _not_ charmed.

He heads back outside with the bag of post-its in hand, waiting for Jack to look up from his camera.

“Got your post-its, eh?” Jack asks, and Eric smiles before he can stop himself.

“Where’d you say you were from again?” he asks innocently as they start walking again.

Jack lets out a quiet noise. It takes Eric a second to realize that it’s a laugh. He glances over at Jack, surprised, and catches the tail-end of a smile, small but definitely there. Jack looks over at him and then past him, and then he points.

“Bittle,” he says, and Eric blinks, and then he turns to look.

They’ve reached the lake. It’s a pretty small lake, not even part of a park, just a small field, really. There’s trees around it, and sometimes ducks, and it’s not a particularly stunning view but it’s one of the nicest they’ve got.

Jack walks ahead across the grass, already holding his camera up, and Eric follows him slowly, watching him as he studies the view through his lens, focusing on a tree for a few moments, turning toward the water as he gets closer. Not wanting to get in the way, Eric stays back a few feet. He should probably head back to work, but he gives himself a moment to stare out at the water, which is still and calm and clear.

He used to come over to the lake a lot as a kid, when he and his parents lived in the apartment above the bakery, before they moved to their house a few blocks away. It was always calm, here. It was always still.

He turns when Jack makes a small, pleased noise and finds the camera aimed right at him.

“Oh,” Eric says, feeling himself blush.

“Sorry,” Jack says quickly. “I just -”

“No,” Eric says, “no, it’s - it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Jack says uncertainly, his eyebrows coming together.

“It is,” Eric says, “really, although I - I should probably get back to work.”

“Okay,” Jack says again, looking like he wants to apologize again.

“I’ll,” Eric says, and then he stops himself.

“See you later,” Jack says, like he sensed where Eric was going.

“Okay,” Eric says, smiling. “I’ll see you later.”

He turns and heads back toward the bakery. He can feel the smile still on his face and he’s not really sure what to do with it. Just because his mother forces him to walk down the street with some boy - just because some boy lets Eric show him where a lake is - it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

-

Eric wakes up because something is tugging on his arm.

Something, of course, is Grayson, pulling at him where his arm hangs over the end of the bed, not saying anything, just squinting up at him, still half asleep. Eric looks at the clock with the one eye he’s pried open - it’s earlier than he’d like to wake up on a day off, but not too awful. He rolls over so that he can get his arms around Grayson and pull him up onto the bed. Tucking his stuffed cat under his arm, Grayson curls up against Eric’s chest and falls back asleep almost immediately.

Rubbing his hand up and down Grayson’s back, Eric lets himself drift for a little bit longer, but the sounds from the kitchen downstairs - Chowder is working today, which explains the occasional odd bang - keep him from completely falling asleep.

Eventually, he eases his way out from under Grayson and goes to shower. When he comes back to get dressed, Grayson is blinking grouchily up at him from under the blanket.

“What do you want for breakfast this morning?” Eric asks as he opens up the closet, pulling on a shirt. “Hm? How about some pancakes, huh, Gray?”

Grayson grunts, and Eric laughs as he moves over to the dresser to find a pair of pants.

“No pancakes?”

“I want a muffin,” Grayson says finally.

Eric sighs. Half the time when he actually has the chance to make whatever food he wants, Grayson vetoes it in favor for something from the bakery.

“Fine,” Eric says, “now get up so we can brush our teeth, mister.”

He flings back the blanket and scoops Grayson up before he can protest, settling the little boy on his hip as he pads barefoot back to the bathroom. Grayson only whines a little as Eric readies his toothbrush, and only dribbles all over the countertop a bit as he brushes. Eric sighs as he passes a hand over Grayson’s hair. It’s much curlier than Eric’s, platinum blonde in soft ringlets, and it always sits in a messy halo no matter what he tries.

He shuffles Grayson down the hall to his bedroom to pick out clothes for the day. It’s a struggle to let him pick out his own clothes when he’s so _bad_ at matching and when Eric is always so put-together, at least in terms of his clothes, but he lets Grayson grab a pair of green shorts and a red t-shirt covered in superheroes and his little velcro sandals.

“Muffins now?” Grayson asks, kicking his feet as Eric tries to strap on his sandals.

“Let Daddy put some shoes on first, alright, sweetheart?” Eric says.

When they make their way down into the kitchen, Chowder looks over from where he’s washing the dishes and waves, flinging suds everywhere.

“Hey, buddy!” he says, crouching down as Grayson runs over to him.

“Mornin’,” Eric says, nodding at Dex, who’s tinkering with Betsy, their smallest, oldest oven who’s on her last legs.

“Morning, Bitty,” Dex says, standing up and leaning against Betsy.

“Daddy, breakfast,” Grayson calls, inching toward the door to the front room.

“Go ahead and ask Nana to get you something,” Eric says, turning back to Dex. “How is she?”

“I _think_ I figured out what the problem is this time,” Dex says, wiping his face and adding another streak of grease. “So hopefully she’ll be good to go soon.”

“Good,” Eric says, patting Betsy’s side.

She’s the oven his mom used to let him use when he was younger, years before he actually started working here, and it’s gonna hurt to see her go.

“Oh!” Chowder says suddenly, dropping whatever he’s washing back into the sink with a splash. “Bitty! _He’s here_.”

“Who’s here, Chowder?” Eric asks, concerned.

“You know, that guy,” Chowder says, widening his eyes. “The guy with the butt.”

“Oh,” Eric says. “Um, thank you for telling me?”

Conscious of Chowder and Dex watching him, Eric heads toward the front room. He has to head there anyway so that he can grab something to eat, and because Grayson is out there, and - and Grayson is out there. Hopefully Suzanne has kept him from bothering Jack, at least?

He tries to look super casual and not concerned as he pops out of the back room, but Suzanne catches him before he can look around, handing him a coffee and a muffin.

“Mornin’, toots,” she says. “Gray wanted a chocolate chip one. I hope that’s alright.”

“Sure,” Eric says, “but where _is_ he.”

“Oh, you know he likes to socialize with the customers,” Suzanne says too innocently. “Wouldn’t be a Bittle if he didn’t, would he.”

Eric finally manages to get past his mother and looks out over the counter. Grayson’s got a muffin between his hands, taking messy bites out of it as he goes and probably dropping crumbs everywhere, and - yep. On one side is Mrs. Forrester, who comes for breakfast most mornings and always sits at the corner table and and complains when Grayson isn’t around. On the other is Jack, who’s in jeans and a t-shirt again, and has a mug and a scone in front of him, and looks more openly amused than Eric has ever seen him.

Suzanne puts her hand on his arm and when he turns, she shakes her head, but Eric - he wasn’t going to pull Grayson away. He wants to see what happens. He leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee.

“You know, I think you may need a napkin, sweetie,” Mrs. Forrester says.

It’s no use because he’ll be covered in chocolate again two seconds later, but she reaches out for Grayson and he lets her wipe at his face for a couple of seconds. He’s used to her, and he’s not shy, but he starts to squirm after a bit and she lets go, laughing as he takes another bite. He turns away, toward Jack’s table, and reaches up a messy hand to grip at the edge of the table up by his head, near where Jack’s camera is resting. Jack reaches out and scoops up the camera, but he still looks amused.

“Me,” Grayson says with his mouth full, pointing with his muffin at the camera.

“You,” Jack replies seriously. “What about you?”

“Take a picture,” Grayson says, patting Jack’s leg.

Jack actually gets out of his chair, squats down into a crouch so he can get a better angle, and aims the camera at Grayson, who smiles innocently like he didn’t just demand the picture be taken. After a moment, he turns the camera around and holds it out so Grayson can see the picture.

“Okay,” Grayson says. “Show me?”

“The other pictures?” Jack asks, and when Grayson nods he says, “Alright.”

Grayson makes appreciative noises as Jack scrolls through the pictures, still squatting on the floor.

“Oh!,” Grayson says suddenly. “That’s Daddy!”

He looks up to see if Eric is around, and when he spots him, he points at the camera.

“It’s you!” he yells.

Ignoring the look his mother is undoubtedly shooting the back of his head, and the slightly startled look on Jack’s face when he looks up, Eric widens his eyes dramatically.

“Is it?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

Grayson puts his hands on his hips, nearly dropping the muffin.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, and Jack laughs out loud.

Mrs. Forrester just about swoons, and Eric wishes he wasn’t right there with her. He’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Uh,” Dex says, “sorry to interrupt? But Betsy’s up and running again.”

“You are a god among men,” Eric says very seriously, heading into the kitchen before Dex even finishes his sentence. “What do you want me to bake you for saving my girl’s life again?”

“You don’t have to,” Dex says automatically, “but I mean, I _do_ really like those Reese’s brownies you make?”

“Done,” Eric says. “I will get started on that right now.”

He’s halfway through throwing the batter together before he remembers that Jack is here, is probably gone by now, and he feels himself start to blush. He’s not sure if it’s more embarrassing that a stove distracted him from Jack, or that he feels _disappointed_ that he prioritized baking over some guy he barely knows who’s probably super straight and just happens to eat here a lot and is apparently good with kids.

Both are pretty embarrassing.

-

Eric is a little disappointed when Jack shows up a couple of days later early in the morning wearing a dark suit, all of him squared off and tucked away. It’s jarring, almost, and Eric expects to see a frown on Jack’s face, for him to rush in and order something and leave, but Jack holds the door open behind him for another man, who slings an arm over Jack’s shoulder once they’re both inside. The man has brown hair down to his shoulders and a mustache and he’s got a bandana holding his hair back and a cropped tank top on.

Eric waits with his elbows against the counter for them to come over. Jack looks a little uncomfortable and the other man smiles widely as he shoves Jack toward the counter. Before Eric can say anything, this guy points at him.

“You,” he says, “must be Bitty.”

“I am,” Eric says slowly, although he can’t imagine Jack calling him that if he’s mentioned Eric to whoever this is.

“Okay,” the guy says, placing both of his hands on the counter and leaning forward, “Lardo says I need to try the croissant thing. Hit me with two.”

“Ah,” Eric says, and he gets to work.

Lardo’s come in a couple of times on her own since Jack first brought her, and she’s ordered a few different things, but mostly she defaults back to the croissant Eric made the first time.

“I’m Shitty, by the way,” the guy says, and Eric squints up at him for a second.

He glances over at Jack, who has an expression on his face that suggests that he’s used to this. To Shitty.

“Alright, Shitty,” Eric says, “you want anything to drink with this? Giant coffee for Lardo?”

“Nah,” Shitty says, “we’ve got Gatorade and water in the car. Lardo wants to do some nature sketching so I took a vacation day.”

Eric pauses in wrapping up the croissants.

“I thought Lardo said she was dating a lawyer,” he says suspiciously, eyeing Shitty as he tucks his hair up into a bun.

“Lawyers wear crop tops too, brah,” Shitty says very seriously.

“O _kay_ ,” Eric says, chancing another look over at Jack as he slides the food across the counter. “Did you want anything this morning?”

“He really does, Bitty,” Shitty says, and then hops a few inches away when Jack glares at him.

Before Eric can wonder what that means, Jack clears his throat and turns to face Eric fully, Shitty wandering over to the display case a foot or so away. He’s definitely still watching Jack out of the corner of his eye.

“Just a tea,” Jack says. “Whatever kind of decaf you have. To go.”

“You don’t want anything to eat?” Eric asks as he grabs a cup.

“No,” Jack says, and then he adds quickly, “I mean, I already ate.”

“Okay,” Eric says, turning to fill the cup. “You sure you want decaf first thing in the morning?”

“I don’t drink caffeine anymore,” Jack says, kind of stiffly. “For my health.”

“Oh,” Eric says, hoping he doesn’t start to blush. “I - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s fine,” Jack says, adding to himself, “I do miss coffee though.”

Eric turns to put the lid on the cup, and he hears Shitty shift closer to Jack.

“How much less terrible is your anxiety since you quit caffeine though?” he asks quietly.

Jack sighs, and Eric feels something click into place. The halting of Jack’s words, the line of his shoulders, the way he holds back his reactions - he’s not just stoic, or a little awkward. He’s protecting himself.

And Eric shouldn’t be listening to this.

“I know,” Jack says. “It is worth it, it just -”

“It sucks, dude, I know,” Shitty says, clapping Jack on the shoulder as Eric turns back around, pasting a smile on his face that he hopes isn’t strained.

“Here,” he says, handing it over, and when Jack takes it he smiles, something small but real.

Eric feels like he should say something, in that moment, when both of their hands are on the cup still and his eyes are on that smile, but then something hits him in the back of the legs and he almost fumbles the tea.

He looks down to find Grayson wrapped around his knees, a toothy smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Eric’s dad says from the doorway to the kitchen. “We came down for breakfast and he got away from me. Quick little thing.”

The smile on Coach’s face is proud, and Eric puts thoughts of little football uniforms out of his mind, lets his dad have this.

Eric bends down and picks Grayson up as Coach goes over to the display case to grab something for them to eat. As Grayson settles on his hip, Eric looks up, realizing that Shitty and Jack still need to pay.

“Oh,” he says. “Gray, honey, you want to help with the register?”

Grayson nods, holding his hand out toward Jack, who laughs a little and pulls out his wallet. Eric gives him a price and Jack carefully reaches out and hands the money to Grayson, cupping his hand underneath Gray’s to make sure nothing falls. Eric types the amount in and when it opens, he shows Grayson what slot to put the dollars and coins into.

When he looks up, Jack is watching them with an expression on his face that Eric almost wants to call soft, but he schools it into something more neutral quickly.

Shitty pulls out his wallet as he comes over, grinning, and he pulls out money when Eric tells him the price.

“Hey, little buddy,” Shitty says, reaching out to shake Grayson’s hand before he hands him the money. “I saw those pictures Jack took of you. They look real nice.”

Eric feels himself start to blush as he helps Grayson drop the coins into the right slots. Did Shitty see the picture of _him_ that Jack took? Not that the picture is - anything, really, it’s just - it’s nothing. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Daddy, can we take more pictures?” Grayson asks.

“Not today,” Eric says. “Some of us have to work, huh?”

Grayson makes a displeased noise and starts to squirm, so Eric sets him down and lets him run over to where Coach is holding a couple of muffins.

“Speaking of work,” Shitty says, nudging Jack with his elbow, “some people here who are not me actually have to get going.”

“You probably need to too,” Jack says. “Did you at least crack a window for Lardo?”

“I’ll bet she’s power napping,” Shitty says. “But she’ll get grumpy if she wakes up hungry and I’m still not back, so let’s go.”

“Have a nice… outing, or whatever,” Eric says. “Tell Lardo I say hi, alright?”

“Sure,” Shitty says. “Nice to meet you, brah.”

“You too,” Eric says, although he’s not sure how he feels about being called _brah_.

He can tell his nose is scrunched up a little but he can’t help it.

“See you later,” Jack says, looking amused.

He pauses, though, and looks over to where Coach has Grayson sitting on the back counter, breaking off little pieces of muffin and passing them to him.

“I’ll bring my camera next time,” Jack says.

“Oh,” Eric says. “You don’t have to! Really, he gets enough attention as it is, you don’t need to -”

“It’s fine,” Jack starts, and then he shuts his mouth, looking mildly concerned. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

Eric opens his mouth and then he catches himself, laughing a little as he realizes they could keep going in circles all day.

“I don’t mind,” he says firmly. “You do whatever you want, y’hear?”

Jack stares at him for a long moment, and Eric briefly panics that Jack is reading into the statement. Eric didn’t mean anything by it but - well, he probably _would_ mean whatever Jack thinks he’s thinking. Eric breathes out slowly.

“Okay,” Jack says. “I’ll bring my camera next time.”

“Okay,” Eric says, and then he looks over Jack’s shoulder, where Shitty is leaning against a table, looking incredibly amused. “Um.”

Jack glances back to see what Eric’s looking at, and then he startles, and he honest to God blushes, his whole face turning just a little pink. Eric stops breathing.

“Uh,” Jack says, and then he turns toward Eric but doesn’t really look at him. “See you later.”

And then he leaves, Shitty waving as he follows him out the door. Eric slumps against the counter.

“Is that the boy your mama keeps going on about?” Coach asks.

“Yes,” Eric says, his face muffled by his arm.

“I don’t think he’s as straight as you think he is,” Coach says, and Eric lets out a hysterical laugh.

-

He’s anticipating it, but he’s still not ready for it.

Eric doesn’t start his shift until the evening, and Grayson is with his mom (or more likely Chowder), so he uses the day to run some errands, making it back just a bit before he’s supposed to clock in. He’s loaded down with a bunch of bags and shoves the front door to the bakery open with his hip, smiling reflexively when he hears Grayson giggling. He turns around fully and almost drops a bag of groceries when he sees Jack.

Jack’s dressed in work clothes, but he took off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He’s squatted down, braced on one knee, with his camera up, aimed at Grayson, who’s posed with his hands above his head, not even pretending not to love the attention. He hops from one pose to another, commanding the floor in the middle of the bakery, and Jack laughs as he tries to keep up with him.

“Slow down a little, pumpkin,” Suzanne calls from behind the counter, and then she shoots Eric a look. “Even you were never this bad.”

Eric puts his bags down on an empty table. Mrs. Forrester, sitting in her corner, is watching Grayson and Jack with a starry expression, and Eric takes a moment to hope that he’s never slipped that badly.

“How long have they been at it?” he asks.

“A _while_ ,” Suzanne says, shaking her head, and Eric lets out a mildly concerned noise.

He moves over to Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You let me know when you want to stop or take a break and I’ll wrangle him, alright?”

“Sure,” Jack says, looking away from the camera and shooting a smile up at Eric.

Eric stares for a moment too long, maybe.

“You want anything to eat or drink?” Eric asks. “On the house.”

“Like I haven’t already tried to feed him,” Suzanne scoffs, and Eric belatedly realizes he still has his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Later,” Jack says, turning back to his camera. “Where’s your cat, Grayson? How about some pictures with the cat?”

“Okay!” Grayson says, grabbing the cat off of a nearby chair and holding it close to his face.

Eric sits down on a nearby chair and watches. Jack shifts so that he’s leaning up on his other knee, messes around with a few settings and brings the camera back up to his face, smiling as he watches Grayson pose through the lens.

He looks comfortable here.

Eric shakes his head a little. He’s - he’s projecting, or something. Seeing what he wants to see.

Jack lowers the camera and turns to look at Eric for a long moment. Eric tries not to shift uncomfortably.

“Grayson,” Jack says, “how about some pictures with your dad?”

Before he can protest, Grayson is climbing onto his lap, and Eric grabs him to help him up. Grayson settles with his back to Eric’s front and his cat on his lap, and the camera starts clicking before Eric can look up and get himself situated.

“Oh,” he starts, frowning a little when Jack keeps going, a small smile just visible on his face below the camera.

“ _Smile_ , Daddy,” Grayson says, whacking him on the leg with the cat, and Eric laughs a little, startled, as he looks down at Gray.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, and Grayson frowns up at him.

He pokes Grayson’s nose, and Gray gives, giggling against him.

“Good,” he hears Jack say quietly, and he looks up, right at Jack, still smiling, just in time for the camera to click again.

Jack pulls the camera away and looks down at it, clicking around a little, and his face softens as he looks at - whatever he’s looking at, it’s probably a picture of Grayson.

“This is a nice picture,” Jack says.

He gets up, walks over and turns the camera around so they can see the shot of Eric and Grayson laughing as they look at each other, Eric’s arms around him and their noses close together.

“It is,” Eric says. “Thanks.”

Grayson grabs at the camera to pull it closer, and before Eric can snatch his hands back, it clicks over to the next picture, where Eric is looking right into the camera and smiling, Grayson still laughing. Jack pulls the camera back a little, out of Grayson’s range, but then, to Eric’s surprise, he moves it back so that Eric can see the picture.

“This is a nice one too,” Jack says.

Eric looks up at him, the soft slope of his shoulders under his crisp white shirt, the way his hair is mussed in the front and the slight smile on his face as he looks down at the camera, and his breath catches.

“I need to put the groceries away,” Eric says before he can stop himself, and he moves Grayson off of his lap and jumps up, grabbing his bags off the table.

He speed-walks past his mother and her raised eyebrows and through the kitchen and up into his apartment, dropping the bags to the floor and sliding down his closed door until he’s sitting with his legs curled up against his chest.

Eric wasn’t projecting.

-

He sits there breathing deeply for twenty minutes, and then a piece of paper slides under the door next to him. He picks it up.

_Gray and I have decided to have a sleepover tonight_ , it says, followed by a phone number, and it’s signed, _The most wonderful mother in the world, probably_.

He groans and lets his head fall back against the door. His mother definitely found Jack’s number in their phone log.

He stands up and puts the groceries away. He paces around his kitchen until someone in the bakery kitchen downstairs bangs on the ceiling with a broom. He picks up the phone and stares at it for a long time.

Finally, he calls.

He hangs up.

He calls again.

“Hello?” Jack says.

“Um,” Eric says, and then he almost hangs up again.

“Bittle?” Jack asks.

“Yes,” Eric says, “um, can you come to the bakery. Tonight. At 10.”

“Yes,” Jack says firmly, although he sounds a little confused.

He probably knows that that’s after the bakery closes, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Okay,” Eric says, and then, “Oh, _shit,_ I was supposed to start my shift - I have to go, bye.”

“Bye,” Jack says, amused.

Eric tosses the phone onto the couch and runs downstairs and tugs on an apron and starts to work on two separate pies at once in the hopes that it’ll keep him distracted enough that he won’t think about what’s going to happen later. It won’t work, but tries.

-

Nursey is the last one to leave, around 9:45, waving as he heads toward the front door.

“You want me to lock it, Bits?” he asks.

“No,” Eric says, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Whatever you say,” Nursey says, and then he’s gone.

Eric turns off most of the lights and turns the sign so that it says _closed,_ and then he leans against the front of the counter and waits. He bounces his legs as he stands there, checking his phone every couple of seconds.

Jack appears outside at 9:53.

He slows when he nears the door, probably seeing that it’s dark inside, but then he must spot Eric because he comes in, his eyebrows raised.

“Hey,” he says.

He’s got on jeans and a hoodie, and his head is ducked down a little, his hands tucked into the front pocket. Eric takes a deep breath.

“Lock the door behind you?” Eric says, and Jack turns and does so, turning back around slowly.

He hovers by the door, waiting, and Eric huffs out something that’s part sigh and part laugh.

“Come _here_ ,” he says, and something in Jack’s expression shifts.

“Okay,” Jack says quietly.

His eyes dart all over Eric as he moves closer, clearly waiting for Eric to tense up or tell him that he’s come too close or something, stopping just a couple of steps away.

“ _Jack_ ,” Eric says, and he gets his hands on Jack’s forearms and reels him in, and Jack’s arms go around his waist right away as something settles in him, his shoulders coming down and his eyebrows smoothing out and the corners of his mouth lifting just a little.

“You caught on,” Jack says. “I thought - but I - I wasn’t sure.”

“You could’ve said something,” Eric says sternly, and Jack shrugs.

“I don’t mind waiting for you,” he says.

Eric blinks up at him.

“Good Lord,” he says. “Jack Zimmermann, are you secretly a romantic?”

Jack ducks his head, looking pained.

“Well not if you’re going to _talk_ about it,” he says.

“Fine, fine,” Eric says, “okay, pretend I didn’t react at all.”

Jack huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Bittle,” he says. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

Eric glances out the window.

“It’s a little late for dinner, isn’t it?” Eric asks, settling his hands on Jack’s upper arms.

“Dessert, then,” Jack says, one of his hands trailing up and down Eric’s back.

“Do you even know of any other food places in town?” Eric asks, and Jack laughs, a real eye-crinkling, shoulder-shaking laugh, ducking his head.

Eric lets himself reach up and fix the mussed hair at Jack’s forehead, and Jack smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [bshittyknight](bshittyknight.tumblr.com)


End file.
